“Where are my clothes?” I asked after chugging the bottle of water. “Where?” I asked when he didn’t answer.
“The laundry.”
“The… laundry,” I repeated.
“You spilled a fair amount of butter down yourself.”
“Butter?” I repeated.
“I think you ate both our body weights in lobster.”
Just the word had my stomach rolling, recoiling.
“Oh. Oh, no,” Harrison said, likely watching me go green.
There was no time for modesty.
I threw off the covers and made a mad dash to the bathroom, bare-assed naked.
But that lack of self-consciousness let me get there right on time.
There was a soft knock on the door after a long break in getting sick.
“Open that door and I’ll blind you with your own toothbrush,” I snapped.
I didn’t do sick well.
And I was feeling especially uncharitable toward the man who’d married me when I’d been too drunk to even know what was going on.
Married.
Just the word had me leaning over the toilet once again. Only my stomach was empty, leaving me dry heaving with another rush of stupid tears pouring down my cheeks.
Eventually, I peeled myself off the floor, washing my mouth out with the little mini mouthwash on the counter, then brushing my teeth ruthlessly with the spare toothbrush.
Feeling slightly more human after that, I turned my attention to the shower.
Ordinarily, I would have fawned over it.
The niche was large enough for a dozen people and set deep enough not to require doors. White marble with light veining stretched up the sides with white river stone on the floor.
There weresixshower heads, including a rainfall one in the center.
But I wasn’t in the mood to luxuriate.
I just wanted to wash the night before away and get my mind right.
Then, maybe, just maybe, I could deal with the repercussions of the night before.
Twenty minutes later, I felt, well, less buttery, at least. Awake, but reluctantly so. Every muscle felt oddly tender and weak. Just toweling off felt like too much work.
I needed coffee.
Something to settle my stomach.
Electrolytes.
A divorce.
